'She was the Picasso of con artists'

12:01AM BST 21 Apr 2004

Goldman Sachs banker Edward Scott Mead saw his private life dragged through the courts after his secretary defrauded him of millions of pounds – but he's still a believer in British justice, he tells Alice Thomson

All Edward Scott Mead did was trust his secretary, give her a few Tiffany trinkets and Hermès scarves, and tell her she was exceptionally competent.

In return, she stole £3.3 million from him, ransacked his e-mails, faked terminal cancer and exposed not only an old affair, but his father's medical history, his five children's dental records and his wife's shopping lists.

In an attempt to justify herself in court, Joyti De-Laurey trampled through this Goldman Sachs banker's life, tossing out everything she could think of, from his dirty laundry to his favourite food and his colleague's bikini waxing appointments.

Scott Mead is the victim of an astonishing fraud. "She hasn't just violated my life once, but twice. Not only did she steal the money, but she took away all my privacy," he explained yesterday, just before the jury returned their verdict.

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The theft was discovered two years ago, yet Scott Mead, one of the most successful bankers of the Nineties, still sounds stunned. As we sit in his Notting Hill drawing room with his five-year-old-twins charging in and out, closely pursued by their teenage sister, he still can't bring himself to use his former secretary's name, nor can his wife, Suling.

His elder daughter is far more frank. "She'd have been better off spending the money on liposuction, rather than handbags," she says.

"I've gone the whole range of emotions," Scott Mead says. "I rarely get angry, I'm not a resentful type of person and I'm not vindictive, but I have become more cynical. I feel victimised when I haven't done anything illegal. It's an Alice in Wonderland feeling. I can't quite believe the case went ahead when she's already admitted taking the money. They made me sound like Saddam Hussein's henchman when I was being cross-examined. I had to go and have a shower in the lunch break, so much mud had been thrown at me."

His former secretary tried to discredit his entire life. "It was a cynical and calculated theft of everything I cared about; not the money, but the personal stuff, my family life, my parents and my children."

Because Scott Mead, as he himself admits, is "wealthy, American and works in the city", he was seen as fair game. If he was rich enough not to notice that so much money was missing from his bank account, then he didn't deserve it, was the insinuation. "But, for two years, my life has been on hold," he says.

It's made him want to stick up for victims. "I feel so sorry for those who do not have access to the best lawyers, who have to brave the courts every day through no fault of their own. The little old ladies who are robbed, the women who are raped, I really feel for them. My case is not in the same universe, but I still felt angry, depressed and powerless in the witness box.

"The outside world might see me as rich and powerful, but the ordeal was still horrifying. I'm a short, balding, retired banker and yet the whole world suddenly knew all about my private life. The Financial Times was splashing it over their front page."

He believes the British are peculiarly obsessed by backing the underdog, however criminal their actions. "Being rich here is a problem. You're fair game, it's still considered slightly pushy to make money. In America, if you've made money you're simply an ambitious, aspirational, successful guy, and everyone wishes you well as long as you're not crooked."

Goldman Sachs employees have always attracted envy and he was one of its highest fee earners, leading the mobile phone giant Vodafone's £101 billion acquisition of Mannesmann in 2000. "We all work incredibly hard and are quite groupie, which does put people off. Maybe that's our fault, but it's not a crime."

He was determined to go into the witness box. "I thought it was my duty, even though the defence said they would expose my affair. I explained to the jury that I had made a terrible mistake. It was a long time in the past, my wife and I had already worked through it. Suling forgave me and she's been wonderful," he says, as she comes in to tell him she is off for a run.

Goldman Sachs has also stuck by its man, repaying him in full for the theft and backing him at every turn from the moment he rang, one May evening in 2002, to report the money missing after he had decided to make a donation to his old college, Harvard.

Last year, he retired from the bank. In his sitting room, there is a painting by Winston Churchill. "He's my great hero," Scott Mead says. "I love his quote: 'You make a living by what you get, you make a life by what you give'."

He had always planned to retire before his 50th birthday. "I'm 49 now, I've made quite enough money. I wanted to use my expertise to help others. But this has ended up being a lay-by in my life. Of course the case has been minor compared to a child's illness or a terrorist attack, but it has just been such a waste of time, energy and taxpayers' resources."

His 12-year-old son, Alex, was six months old when he was diagnosed with leukaemia. "Either my wife or I had to spend every night in Great Ormond Street Hospital for six months. That, without doubt, was the most profound experience of my life. It helped me get through this. I keep thinking, I can cope with anything as long as my family is healthy. It's Alex's birthday today; the fact that we can celebrate it is still amazing and wonderful to me. I know that, overall, I am incredibly lucky."

The jury was told that his life was "the stuff of fairy tales". In the witness box, he admitted that he has made £50 million - "in that vicinity, at some point" - when the bank floated on the stock market in 1999. "I started with nothing, I worked very hard. I was very, very fortunate to have done well financially."

His great-grandfather was an Irish printer who came over to America and settled in Pennsylvania. His father was a stockbroker, "But I had to pay my own way through university."

His friends say he has been blessed with an extraordinarily close family, and a knack for the big deal, but that he was never smug about it. He is an enthusiast who throws himself into everything from marathons and plans to scale Everest, to his children's homework. And he is competitive. His CV includes the fact that he is three-times Queen's Club veterans tennis champion, as well as the very American interest of being into "personal growth and challenges".

"I guess I do have a lovely life, but my former secretary's was far more of a fairytale. She spent £50,000 on handbags and shoes in six months; my wife would never dream of doing that. I wouldn't have minded so much if she was doing a Robin Hood and giving it all away to the poor. But she was spending it on fripperies."

He must have suspected something. "You can't wake up every morning and think: 'What has my secretary stolen from me?' You have to trust them and encourage them. She was the Picasso of con artists. She was a talented woman. I discussed getting her a promotion. She knew exactly how to work on me.

"Telling me she had terminal cancer was inspirational - after my son's near-death, she'd hit my soft spot. I sent her flowers on National Secretary's Day, and later discovered that was one of the days she'd stolen most money."

She was obviously desperate to share in his lifestyle. "We don't live poor, but we aren't nearly as extravagant as she was. I don't have an Aston Martin. I don't spend hundreds of thousands at Cartier or thousands on helicopter lessons. Most of my money is channelled into charity."

He has helped to set up a school, the Notting Hill preparatory school, is vice-chairman of the Great Ormond Street Hospital's redevelopment board and spends much of his time fundraising for cancer and educational charities.

He also wants to become more involved in politics, advising on health and education and maybe even one day seeking public office in America, but he has felt obliged to put the case behind him first.

It is half way through the morning and there still hasn't been a verdict.

Scott Mead's father has come over from America to lend support, the children are milling around the house, everyone is waiting. Scott Mead is trying to work out what he will feel if she is not found guilty. "I think we will stay in Britain, we've been here so long. It's a great country. But it's been so hard when every time you go anywhere, people know about your whole life before you've said anything."

Friends and colleagues have kept him going. "Gavyn Davies, who used to work at Goldman Sachs, gave me great advice. Friends have been astonishingly kind - even taxi drivers have wished me luck."

The phone rings. It's his lawyer. "Guilty, guilty, guilty, guilty..." she recites. He smiles his perfect American smile. He gives the thumbs up and suddenly he is hugging me. "Do you mind terribly if we stop this interview for a moment so I can tell my family?" he says, sounding momentarily very English. "I love the British," he says. "In the end, you pull through, that innate sense of fairness. This is great news. I can't quite believe it."

As he bounds upstairs, there are squeals from the children. He returns rumpled, with the twins hanging off him. His elder daughter is debating whether they should have a celebration lunch at McDonald's or the Texan Lone Star.

His wife returns from her run. They hug each other calmly, he squeezes her hand. A twin nearly smashes a statue of a horse as she careers around the room, but no one cares. "The nightmare is over," he says. "Now we can get on with our lives. With what matters."

As his wife takes the children into the garden, he beams. "She has been amazing, wonderful and strong. She's the best thing that has happened to me."

He is already plotting their future. "We can have such fun. This is what I retired for."

Does he feel bitter now? "There is still £1 million unaccounted for. She deserves to go to prison, it wasn't hers. She spent nearly all that money on herself and her family. I made my money myself, and I want to share it around.

"I still can't understand her greed. She might have got away with it if she hadn't wanted so much. In the past two years, I have had moments when I thought: 'I wish I'd never discovered the theft'. But now I know I've done the right thing."